


Wolf's Blood

by Sneakend



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Breathplay, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Finland (Country), HYDRA Husbands, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mission Fic, Non-Consensual Breathplay, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 11:06:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneakend/pseuds/Sneakend
Summary: Rollins may think that kinky sex is the best cure for frostbite, but someone's got to make sure the mission takes priority. Even if it means dealing with the entirely clueless local agents, inconvenient feelings for your co-worker and a growing pile of dead bodies.





	Wolf's Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SplinterCell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SplinterCell/gifts).



> This is my fill for Marvel Holiday Swap on Tumblr. SplinterCell asked for: Hydra Husbands, angst with a happy ending, pining/pre-relationship, not too trash-heavy or verging-on-abuse. I, uh, tried to abide by your requests? This got a bit long, there's actually a plot somewhere there when I get to it, but it's already so late that I'm posting the beginning because it's mainly smut and you can pretend it's a one-shot for now. It's technically pre-relationship, alright? They may be fucking, but there's _definitely_ no feelings. At all. I wasn't aiming for the dub-con elements but sometimes Rollins just be like that, sorry.
> 
> I wanna thank dance for reading through this and giving me a ton of excellent pointers as well as correcting my mistakes. Without them this would be a hundred times worse. ♡

It's quiet in the middle of fucking nowhere, Finland. The snow-covered land stretches out for miles, ending in a seemingly endless expanse of pine forest that looms against the grey winter sky. It's a picturesque scene, one that wouldn't be amiss on a Christmas card. Yeah, a Christmas card is how Brock would rather be experiencing this landscape. But instead, he’s here, in this hellscape itself, being subjected to snowfall and freezing wind blowing from who knows where. Siberia, most likely. Their transport is late and growing later by the minute. He tries to decide whether he's more bothered by the shit weather conditions or the unprofessionalism of the locals, but can't make up his mind.

There's a cough to his right which he assumes is to get his attention because Rollins doesn't look sick. He doesn't even look cold, and that if anything is pissing him the fuck off.

"The fuck’s wrong with this weather? What time is it anyway?" Brock asks, and despite himself, he can hear a whine creeping into his voice. 

Rollins glances at his watch. "13:24. A whole four minutes since the last time you asked."

A shiver runs through Brock and he tries to warm up by rubbing his hands on his arms. It does absolutely nothing to help. "Inconsiderate assholes."

"No shit," Rollins says and scans their surroundings. His eyes lock on an abandoned warehouse displaying a nondescript sign in Finnish – the only visible man-made structure in the vicinity - and his mouth widens into a grin. "If you can't handle it, we can go inside. I'll warm you up, baby." 

Brock's eyes narrow at the endearment. Usually, he'd protest it, but today it's just him and Rollins. And the asset, but obviously it doesn't count. Not like it'll remember anything come next week. Plus he really is freezing and any reprieve from that may well be worth some humiliation. 

"Fine."

Turns out the building's not even locked, not that he would've let that stop him. He pushes inside ahead of Rollins who turns to the asset.

"Soldier, watch the door," he orders, leaving it outside like a guard dog that's appreciated, but not loved enough to be let inside the house.

Rollins pulls at the door and though it resists a bit, the corner of it digging into the snow stubbornly, it finally closes behind them with a loud clang that echoes in the empty space. Brock inhales the dusty air, a faint smell of mold filling his nose. He pulls at the collar of his jacket to guard his nose against any spores and earns an amused look from Jack. He shrugs it off and wanders away from the door. The temperature inside isn't much higher than outdoors, but at least they're safe from the wind. There's also no coldness leaching from the ground like out there in the snow where he'd already partially lost feeling in his toes. He tries to get some blood flowing by curling them inside his boots but doesn't see much progress before he's tackled into the wall by Rollins.

His head hits the concrete a bit harder than necessary, but he doesn't have time to pay it any mind, not with Jack pressing hard against him. He lifts his hands to cradle Brock's face on both sides almost tenderly and rubs one thumb along his jawbone. The light is dim inside, especially with the door closed, but enough of the afternoon sun filters through the dusty window for Brock to see that there's an intense look on Jack’s face. The one that always sends shivers down Brock's spine when it's directed at him. It's the cool confidence of a predator zeroed in on its prey and ready to pounce. Jack's never confused about what he wants or afraid to go after it. Hell, he had been the one to start this whole… thing between them. That'd definitely been a risky move, but Jack Rollins' balls are made of brass. Regardless, sometimes he gets lost in that headspace, locked on to a target with no respect for the surroundings. He'd pull the trigger in front of a class of kindergarteners if the mission called for it, of that Brock has no doubt. And he's not likely to be deterred from a quickie by something as insignificant as lack of privacy. 

Yet right now he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to proceed to the actual good part, content to just lean into Brock and breathe on his face. The heat emanating from his body is welcome after the frozen tundra outside and Brock briefly considers wrapping his arms around Jack's solid form and burying his frostbitten face in his neck for extra warmth. He shakes his head minutely; where the hell had that come from? A warehouse in the middle of a mission is no fucking place to cuddle with your co-worker. Actually, no place is a good place for that, Brock reminds himself. He may be down to fuck a dude, but that's mostly for the convenience. He's not into any of the actual touchy-feely gay shit and he should probably remind Jack of that too.

"Hey, are we gonna fuck or not?"

"You sure know how to kill the mood," Jack says, but slides his hands downwards till they're circling Brock's neck, ready to squeeze the breath out of him if he says the wrong thing. Or the right thing. Depends where you're coming from.

"What mood? You've been staring at my face so much, I don't know if I should puke or take a snooze, Jackie," he smirks back at Jack and earns a squeeze around his throat.

Some unreadable emotion passes through Jack's face before he schools his expression back to practiced indifference. "Either, if it means you'll shut up," he growls and tightens his hold.

 _He knows me too well_ , Brock thinks vaguely, quickly losing his ability to concentrate on anything but the feel of strong steady hands and the way his pulse jumps against Jack's thumbs. His knees are weak with want and his dick is painfully hard already. He opens his mouth and lets out a wheezing whine.

Jack uses his hold to drag him closer by the neck, not allowing him any leeway to move when he kisses him, hard, probably mostly to shut him up and a little, maybe, because it seems to border on a fetish for Jack. Brock's fucked a lot of guys without ever bringing his mouth close to theirs. Just like then, there are no feelings here, just physical need. But if Jack needs to kiss him to get his engine revving, that's fine by him.

Brock opens his mouth to him eagerly and grinds against him, hands already working on their gear. There's limited time and he'll be damned if he isn't going to get off before their unpunctual colleagues show up and ruin the only good thing about this shitty mission.

There are too many pieces of clothing and he fumbles a bit, just another reason to hate this frozen hellhole - it takes ages to get to his own dick. He makes a frustrated noise into Jack's mouth and suddenly the hands are gone from around his neck and working his pants open. That's what he likes about Jack, he's always so efficient. 

Jack pushes one hand into his pants, making Brock hiss at its lingering coldness, though mostly it just feels good. Slowly, Jack starts stroking him, first with just his thumb but soon wrapping his whole hand around his dick. Brock rolls his hips against his grip encouragingly, lets his head drop against the wall and pants with pleasure.

"What about-" he starts to ask but doesn't get far before Jack covers his mouth with his other hand and hushes him. Brock makes a noise against his palm but relents and lets the other man take the lead. It's not like there’s anyone there to see them, after all. And he’s not going to think about the asset’s super hearing and the vast silence surrounding them. Or about how there’s no chance one wall is enough to mask any sounds they make, especially when a single scuff of a boot or a groan echoes off the bare walls like a surround system.

It becomes clear that the cold isn't deterring his libido because the way Jack’s working his hand around his dick is getting him close embarrassingly fast. He grabs at Jack's wrist, trying to push him away, but Jack isn't having it.

"Shh. Don’t fight it," he basically croons.

Brock makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat but it's practically inaudible behind Jack's hand. He's breathing harsh through his nose, already feeling like he's not getting quite enough oxygen in his system. And then Jack moves his hand enough to pinch his nose shut too. Brock tries to kick him in the shin, but it's weak and Jack doesn't even acknowledge it, simply continuing on. 

It takes a moment, maybe a minute, but as always he's hit with the headrush of hypoxia and soon all he can hear is his own heartbeat. Even if he hadn't been close before, he knows this would've done it, pure pleasure coiling in his abdomen as Jack strokes him fast, almost hard enough to chafe, but he's way too far gone to care.

His dick jerks in Jack's grip and he's coming, spilling all over Jack's hand, his whole body trembling with both the force of the orgasm and the attempt to draw in a breath. But Jack's not moving either of his hands, just pinching harder on his nose and pressing against his face to keep him from slipping free. It seems to go on for much longer than usual, pleasure shooting through him as Jack milks him dry in slow, precise strokes.

Finally, it all becomes too much, Jack still fondling his dick even after it stops feeling good and Brock about to pass out from lack of oxygen. He tries the kicking trick again and this time Jack seems to take a hint. He removes the hand keeping him from breathing first, and then, after one final stroke, the other one as well. Brock gulps in lungfuls of air and slides down the wall to sit on the floor. It's chilly, but right then he feels hot enough to burn and strangely content too, despite not having his breathing entirely under control. He drifts off for a while, not to sleep but into a headspace where paying attention to anything seems unnecessary. 

After a beat, there's a hand under his chin, tilting his face up to look at Jack who's staring at him with furrowed brows. 

"You okay?"

Is he? He actually feels better than okay, the irritation over having to be here - over Christmas of all times - having melted away at some point. Still, he probably shouldn't let Jack get away with that shit, smothering him in the middle of sex without warning. That's just not cool.

"Why do you always do that?" His voice sounds muffled and low under the ever-present hum in his head.

Jack looks at him, face unreadable. "What did I do?"

 _Try to make me come as fast as possible so it'll be your turn, bastard._ "Nothing. Forget it." It's not that he's opposed to starting a fight, but he'd like to preserve at least some of the afterglow while possible.

Jack studies him for a while. "You need help getting up?"

"Just… fuck you." The thought of getting up is not exactly a tempting one so he maneuvers himself onto his knees and tucks himself in with a slight grimace. At least his crotch isn't too wet. He assumes Jack caught most of the load, but isn't about to ask where he wiped it off. He’s got enough on his plate without having to worry about laundry.

He shuffles forward and gets to work on Jack's zipper. Better get it over with before they’re caught with their dicks out. Some first impression that’d be. Jack doesn't say a thing as his dick is pulled out, already fully hard. Just slides his hand into Brock's hair and pulls firmly. It doesn't really hurt, but Brock shoots an irritated look up at him anyway. He knows what the fuck he's doing; he doesn't need guidance. He may be down on his knees with another man's dick in his hand, but he thinks he still warrants some respect.

"Don't mess with the hair," he warns.

Jack gives him an amused look, looming above him with one hand pressed against the wall behind Brock. "I'll mess with _you_ if you don't get on with it."

As if Brock doesn’t already feel thoroughly messed with. He gives Jack’s dick a few rough strokes, then leans in and licks the precome off the head before taking it in deeper. He keeps a hand wrapped around the base and gives it a squeeze, earning a grunt from Jack whose hand still hasn't left his hair and is now pulling on it more insistently, probably trying to get Brock to choke on his dick. It's like Rollins doesn't want him to talk or breathe during sex at all, and he feels a little insulted by that. He has a lot to contribute, as a stellar conversationalist. Besides, his dirty talk isn’t _that bad_.

But Jack’s game can be played by two. Brock puts all of his focus on Jack’s dick and sucks hard on the head, curling his tongue around it. He uses his right hand to stroke it while he grabs Jack's hip tightly with his left. Then, he pushes forward taking in as much as he can fit, flattening his tongue against the length of it and letting out a sharp breath through his nose. There's still a few inches to go and he's not sure if he can do it after all. Jack hasn't been subtle about what he's into but Brock hasn't exactly been delighted about the idea of choking on dick either. It's a fine dick, no doubt, but it's still pretty fucking degrading and he's not sure Jack has ever done anything to actually deserve such a treat.

He squeezes Jack's hip, really digging his fingers in hoping to leave bruises. It may be petty, but he’s not really in a position to warn Jack off from doing anything stupid in any other way. Insisting on verbal confirmation would definitely ruin the element of surprise. He dives in without warning, though not too swiftly. He feels the cock head hit him in the back of the throat and swallows around it. He's a bit surprised himself that he manages to take it all in and just stops to blink for a second, processing it, nose practically touching Jack's pelvis. There’s a layer of cloth on his way and he pushes at the hem of the shirt to get to bare skin. 

Jack, though, isn't taking this new revelation nearly as calmly. He lets out a choked sound, his fingers spasming compulsively in Brock’s hair. Brock dares a quick look upwards, careful not to move his head with the movement, and sure enough, Jack is staring down at him with a look on his face that Brock's never seen before. It’s a mix of awe and disbelief and, perhaps, a dash of something else that he’s unable to identify. He just fucking came not five minutes ago and at his age, he really shouldn’t be able to get it up again so quickly, but somehow that look goes straight to his dick. There’s a painful twist in the pit of his stomach that could be arousal or some unnamed emotion he’s not about to explore now, or possibly ever.

Brock can't hold the position long and pulls back in order to heave in a proper breath. He's positively surprised that Jack lets him, doesn't apply any force to the back of his head though his fingers are still loosely curled in his hair. Brock only takes a few seconds and then moves back in, consciously relaxing his throat to accept in the whole length of the dick. He starts slow but gradually increases the pace when he’s certain he’s not going to choke - or worse. He keeps bobbing his head, taking Jack's dick in and swallowing around it, then pulling out and adding a few strokes with his hand.

The noises that he’s able to get out of Jack with his administrations are gratifying, to say the least. He'd not been sure if he'd been deluding himself, preparing for something like this just to surprise Jack, but it seems the effort hasn't been in vain. It'd have been worth it just for how obvious it is that Jack never thought Brock would agree to this. Which is why he probably should’ve expected it when Jack’s fingers finally take a firmer hold on his hair and pull him forward, not giving an inch when he tries to back off. Brock isn't sure if it’s because Jack's just too far gone, or desperate to get everything out of what he probably thinks is a one time offer only. Not that the reason matters in the end when the result is the same. He's forced to swallow, and keep swallowing compulsively with nowhere to go. There's a trail of drool sliding down his chin and he's dimly aware of the distressed choking sounds he's making. Jack, on the other hand, seems oblivious to it, bent over Brock’s head, panting in harsh breaths.

Time seems to slow down, somehow, and Brock could swear he can feel the dust motes floating around them getting stuck in his damp eyelashes. Every minute detail is suddenly pronounced and tangible, from the way the rough, frigid floor presses into his aching knees to the familiar smell that is all _Jack_ , something he’d be able to recognize even with a blindfold on. He concentrates on the heaviness of Jack’s length in his mouth, feeling his pulse against his tongue, making Brock’s own dick throb between his legs, unreachable unless he wants to lose his balance and suffocate. It doesn’t last long - though it feels like several minutes, at least - before Brock’s broken out of his reverie by another painful tug in his hair.

He doesn’t get a chance to stop and wonder about his ability to get meditative over Jack’s dick because he’s suddenly aware of his eyes watering, tears sliding down his face as he grows desperate to breathe. The best strategy seems to be to just get Jack to come as fast as possible, so he closes his eyes and just applies himself to the task. He's grown good at noting the telltale signs of when Jack is about to lose it, and it only takes seconds to get him there. Brock bangs his fist forcefully against his hip multiple times as a sign to let him go because fuck if he's gonna let Jack come down his throat. He's drawing the line somewhere. There's no reaction for a few moments but then Brock’s dragged off his cock almost violently, his mouth suddenly empty and free to choke in some fresh air, his mind dazed by all of it. Jack pulls on his dick once, twice and comes with a gasp. Brock is still out of it, eyes downcast and excess drool dripping down on the floor next to his hand when he feels something wet hit the top of his head. _Oh no, he fucking didn't._

"You did not just fucking jizz in my hair?" He snaps.

Jack slides down to his knees to meet him at eye level. Maybe his legs can't hold him up anymore since he never had the benefit of a wall to lean on, but Brock really doesn't give a fuck. He should've known that telling Jack not to mess with the hair would be tantamount to a dare. He just never imagined he'd go this far. He's seething and sure that Jack sees it too. And if Jack doesn't fix it in about three seconds he may well be the first target eliminated on this mission. 

Jack leans into him and wraps one hand across the back of his neck. It’s warm, if a little damp, and makes Brock want to press his forehead against Jack’s shoulder and just breathe there for a while. But he refuses to let Jack think he can do what he wants and then ameliorate the situation with some possessive move just because Brock is in a vulnerable state. So he remains still while Jack snakes an arm between their bodies and grabs Brock’s dick through his pants.

“Can you come again?”

Brock considers it for a moment, knows he could if there was no time constraint. Nevertheless, as hot as getting caught might seem in the heat of the moment he just feels tired now. Tired and in pain because he shouldn’t be kneeling on the damn floor being dragged around by the hair. And while he may be able to get off to the idea of the asset listening in on them, he’s also rational enough to realize being caught by anyone else would be potentially disastrous. Not to mention personally humiliating.

“I’m good.” He pushes Jack’s hand away reluctantly, eyeing his bare dick that’s still on full display. He reaches out a hand to take care of it himself since Jack doesn't seem inclined to do it any time soon, content to just let his dick hang free. He wraps his fingers around it gently, struck by how much more intimate the act feels now that the sex is already done, before giving it one last, slow stroke and tucking it in. He lifts his gaze and finds Jack staring at him with an indecipherable expression. He stares back, feeling increasingly self-conscious in the face of Jack's silence. “What-”

Jack tilts his head closer, interrupting him. He ignores Brock's tries to turn his face away and catches his lips in a kiss. It's a good kiss, regardless of Brock’s current mental state and he leans into it just a little. It's Jack who finally breaks it, pulling back and lifting a hand to wipe away some of the wetness still on Brock's face, but doesn't even say anything pissy about it, just licks some of it off his thumb and says, "Sorry. Didn't mean to do that to your hair."

Brock narrows his eyes, still suspicious. "I somehow doubt that."

Jack just sighs dejectedly. "Look. I don't want to say it, but I didn't think I was going to-"

"Come like a sixteen-year-old?"

"Sure. Whatever. It was pretty hot, alright? Didn't think you'd be down for that."

"I could tell," Brock says with a grin, then quickly schools his face back into a disapproving expression. "But fuck you still, because now I've got come in my hair." He doesn't even want to think about their pick-up that could be arriving at any minute. If someone smells it on him he's going to have to kill them. Or what if it freezes into his hair? The mere thought makes me shudder.

Jack shrugs. "Just let me take care of it." He combs his fingers through Brock's hair carefully and then wipes his hand on his own trouser leg. He follows this by rubbing at the area with his sleeve and then inspects it. "There. No one could tell."

"You better be right about that." He's not entirely convinced of Jack's jizz inspection skills since it is dim as hell inside the building.

"Just put your hat on. No one will know any better. You can re-style your prissy hair when we get to somewhere with a bathroom."

"Yeah. And that's all I'll be doing," Brock says, fully intent on this not happening again on the same mission

"Isn't it always?" Jack gets up from the floor in one fluid motion that makes his stiff knees envious.

"That's not what I-" Brock's interrupted by a loud knock on the door. "What!"

"A car," is all the asset says in a way of reply.

"Well, fucking finally!" He braces a hand on his knee but before he can get up Jack is there, offering a hand. This time he accepts it and lets himself be pulled up, his legs protesting the movement. He scowls and sways into Jack lightly, but doesn’t pull away immediately.

“Still cold?” Jack asks and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

Brock’s going to have to shake him off in a second. To step outside and deal with the real world. But he allows himself to soak in Jack’s body heat, hoping some of the warmth will linger on him when he leaves the safety of these walls. The locals can stand to wait a fucking moment and the asset’s not going to let them in without Brock’s permission. For all they know, he’s having a strategic meeting with Jack. He turns his head, lets his nose brush Jack's collar and breathes in his scent deeply. “Nah. Not anymore.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title unashamedly stolen from an ancient Finnish poem that goes something like this in English: 
> 
> _“If the one I know were to come,_  
>  _Were I to see the one I’ve seen,_  
>  _To him I’d stretch out my hand,_  
>  _Were a snake coiled in his palm,_  
>  _Upon his lips I’d press a kiss,_  
>  _Were his mouth filled with wolf’s blood,_  
>  _Around his neck I would throw my arms,_  
>  _Had he brought death with him,_  
>  _At his side I would lie,_  
>  _Were he on a bloody sheet.”_


End file.
